If those years brought unprecedented misery to the human family, they had their compensating moments—especially for those most deeply concerned. Lovers, for instance—true lovers. When two people really love one another, and are limited by inexorable circumstances to rare and brief periods of companionship, each one of which may be the very last—and each succeeding day of those four years saw some six hundred British soldiers of all ranks go back from Leave never to return—their love is lifted to heights, and breathes an atmosphere, of which ordinary workaday lovers can know nothing. Poor peace-time lovers—sitting holding hands in a conservatory, or spooning on a golf course—what do they know? Faced by a future all their own (and the enervating consciousness that there will probably be a good deal of it), what do they know? What do they know of the blind rapture of Six Days’ Leave? Roy’s telegram preceded him by exactly one hour, so Marjorie had little time to get excited. She merely embraced Liss, changed her frock, embraced Liss again, changed her frock again, and dashed off to Victoria. After that her recollection of events went out of focus a little. She had watched the arrival of the Leave-train so often merely as a benevolent spectator, that sudden and personal participation in that function disarranged her perspectives. She caught sight of Roy almost at once—singling out his glengarry from among the flat caps and steel helmets. He was politely resisting the importunity of an elderly gentleman in a grey uniform and a red brassard, bent on luring him to a free ride upon the Underground Railway. Next moment, Marjorie had slipped her arm through his. After that, neither of them remembered anything much until they found themselves sitting hand in hand in a taxi, gliding stealthily through the darkened streets of London, both feeling a little constrained and embarrassed. Re-united lovers, especially of our nation, do not always spark immediately on contact. We are a highly-insulated race. "They keep this old place pretty dark," said Roy, peering out of the cab window. "Zeppelins, I suppose?" "Yes. We had some last week." "Have you ever seen one?" "Rather!" Roy laughed, constrainedly. "It’s funny you should have seen something in this war that I haven’t," he said. "Where are we going?" "To my flat." Roy turned and surveyed Marjorie’s profile in the dim light of the cab. "I shall be able to see you properly then," he announced with satisfaction. "It’s as dark as the inside of a cow here. Have you changed at all, I wonder?" "You will find I am quite a big girl now," replied Marjorie, laughing constrainedly. Roy laughed too, and his face came closer to hers. Her hair brushed his lips. Next moment their arms were about one another.